Whiskey and Secrets
by TheCinnamonGirl
Summary: The Roadhouse is known as a place of sanctuary, to relax, to drink, to hear some great music, maybe to fall in love. When Castiel, a quiet singer-songwriter finds himself working with Dean and his rowdy band, will they find harmony, or will it all fall flat? How will their relationship cope with blossoming careers and stressful family histories?
1. Chapter 1

The Tuesday night show pulled a larger crowd than usual. Maybe it was due to the end of the semester, maybe because The Roadhouse had finally started stapling posters advertising their performance nights to all of the telephone poles in town. Nevertheless, the room was packed, and more ears were hearing Dean's voice than ever before.

The bass guitar's deep tones hummed through the room, under the soles of the leather boots and high heels, through the blood of the lonely, the celebratory, the hopeless and the hopeful. The red and blue neon lights seem to flicker in time to the drumbeat, so the entire bar seems to pulse together in the same rhythm. Some nights, the cymbal clashes would make the glasses on the oak tables tremble, causing the intoxicating liquids inside them to roll in gentle concentric circles, punctuating each beat all around the room.

The lead guitar rings out clearly, picking out notes and riffs, guided by the strong painted fingers of the woman who plays it. Her thick black hair flies wildly around her face, whipping across her solid jaw. An occasional strand finds itself caught in her cherry red lipstick, but she's too absorbed in her craft to swipe it away. Her eyes are closed behind thick round sunglasses, despite the dark surroundings. Her flying fingers find the strings with minds of their own, forming chords through pure memory. It's been years since she could see the frets on her beloved instrument, or the enraptured faces of the people she performed for, but what she's lost in vision, she's gained in instinct.

Between the cries of the steel strings and the pounding of the drums, a voice weaves its words- barely audible above the music, but at the same time impossible not to hear. The voice sounds like whisky and secrets, leather and chrome, teardrops and anger. The voice is both the first thing anyone entering the Roadhouse will hear, and the one thing that will stay with them the next day, even when their clouded minds won't recall anything else.

The voice belonged to a man who both commandeered the small stage and melted into the shadows. The words came from his heart, working their way up his throat, pouring from his mouth and tumbling over his full, dry lips. A four-day stubble defined his sharp jawline. His short brown hair was combed tidily before the show, but now stuck out in all directions from all the times he reached up with his free hand and pushed it up from where it fell on his damp brow. The most noticeable feature on the singer, however, was his eyes. They were a clear, dark green, and they flashed brightly when they caught the light from the signs in the window or the fluorescents over the pool table. Occasionally they glanced cheekily through the audience, lingering on some faces, before winking and moving on. Other times they were held half closed as the man tipped his chin to the ceiling and let his body sway to the instruments behind him. From the dry leather boots on his feet, to the unbuttoned flannel shirt on his back, he looked like part of the bar.

This was what you would see on any given Tuesday or Saturday night at the Roadhouse. These were the nights that Dean Winchester and his band _Daeva_ always rocked the stage. Their classic rock covers were always a hit with the tougher crowds that the bar pulled, though any stranger, from a lonely trucker to a couple on their first date would instantly feel at home in the comfortable atmosphere.

Dean ran his hand over his face as he left the stage, taking the three stairs in one step. His left hand still smelled metallic from the microphone that he held like a bible in his sweaty palms.

"Good show tonight Dean!" Ash held both of his drumsticks in one hand as he clapped the singer strongly between his shoulder blades. "And man, was the house packed or _what_? I told you, once the word got 'round town that Daeva's got the best looking drummer since Keith Moon, we'd be fighting them off the stage!"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Ash. Everyone's coming home for the _Holidays._" Dean said the word like someone might say _genital herpes_. "Everyone's doing the turkey and pumpkin pie thing. This is just where they come to get away from the functional family crap."

In the back room, Dean shucked his blue plaid shirt, patting down his neck with a clean, white towel.

"You doing anything for Christmas?" Ash inquired from the threadbare red couch that he had thrown himself down on. "I mean, are you going to see Sam or…" He silenced when Dean's eyes pierced him from across the room.

"I'm done trying to relate to Sam, Ash. You know that. I was done dealing with that douchebag the minute he sold his soul to Los Angeles."

Ash picked nervously at some lint on the arm of the couch. Dean felt a little sorry for the guy, he shouldn't have grumbled at him, but he hated when people brought up his broken family.

Ash was lucky, he had his mom and sister practically within arm's reach all the time. His father had died when he was too young to remember, too young for it to hurt. His mother, Ellen, owned the Roadhouse. "Owned" didn't do her justice. She breathed life back into it after it fell neglected when her husband had his accident. Washing the grime from the windows washed the bad memories from her heart. Restocking the shelves with whiskey and brandy refilled her life with a purpose. The night she flipped the neon signs on for the first time in three years, she started a new life. She raised her children well, making sure their hearts were true and they were strong. Ash didn't understand families who left each other, but he had no right to mention Sam to Dean.

Truth was, Dean was planning on spending the holidays on his own, probably hungover. He'd watch _It's a Wonderful Life_, or _Frosty the Snowman_ or something, but God knows he wouldn't mention that bit to anyone. He'd nurse his pounding headache with cold turkey sandwiches and store-bought pie and avoid his problems. Hell, that was a pretty good summary of his life so far.

Laughter echoed through the door from down the hallway. The radio had been turned back on since their set was over and a slower Bob Dylan tune seeped through the paneled walls.

"Fuckin' eh man!" Garth squawked as he bounced through the door. The energy in the room skyrocketed immediately. It didn't get toned down at all when Gabe followed him in, twirling a baby-blue bra on his wrist.

Dean jumped a little when Gabe spanked his ass with his new prize.

"Cleared this off the stage after your big finale. You've got to learn to hang around for a minute, give the ladies some time to unsnap the goods after you do your Elvis move. I keep swiping the profits!"

Dean couldn't help but laugh when his vision was suddenly impaired by a set of 32Bs. He threw his arms out in front of him and feigned stumbling around the room blindly.

"Hey dude, you'd better knock that off before Pam catches you." Ash drawled from the couch.

"Too late," Pamela's smoky southern twang interrupted from the doorway. "Seriously boys, I make a two-minute trip to the ladies' and you knuckleheads manage to make me your punchline _again."_ She stood just outside the room. With her crossed arms and studded leather jacket, she looked like a force to be reckoned with, and the four men shrank back just a little.

"Oh come off it, you dildos, I'm just messing with you. God help me if I ever took you guys seriously." She dropped her hands to her thighs and stepped inside and the tension in the room visibly disappeared.

Dean looked proudly around the room at his band as he took a seat in a worn leather armchair, cracking a beer and reclining. He looked at Garth, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chewing his guitar pick and doodling his latest logo idea on a (_used?)_ napkin. Dean had found him waiting tables at a café in Houston, well, Garth had found him. He had eagerly questioned Dean about the half-written song that was penned into the margins of the day's newspaper. Dean had tried to hide it, embarrassed. He was shit at writing. Garth hadn't been shy about telling Dean that either. After a few minutes discussing bands, they had found they had the same tastes, and there was no shaking him. Garth followed Dean back to Nebraska like a puppy who had found his person. He irritated the hell out of Dean, but his heart was in the right place and he was one hell of a bassist. Plus, they probably wouldn't be able to get rid of him if they tried, his puppy-dog eyes were just too good.

His eyes fell on Ash next. He lounged on the ancient couch, twirling his drumstick between the fingers of one hand, scrolling through the playlists on his iPod with the other. Ash had been Dean's best friend since college. They had met when Ash had used his quick wit and good reputation to get Dean out of some hot water with a professor. The flashback gave Dean his daily reminder not to try mixing energy drinks with Jack Daniels ever again, especially before an exam. He honestly had no idea what Ash was doing in the middle of nowheretown, Nebraska- he was the closest thing to a genius Dean had ever met. He could be president, or on the moon, or the founder of the next Microsoft, but no, he smashes away at his drums like a cutoff-wearing Hulk with a mullet in a band that didn't even have an original song and played in his mom's bar. _What a guy_

Dean's memories of Pamela were a little more bittersweet. Looking at her chatting enthusiastically with Gabe brought him back to another backroom at another concert. Back then, her hair had electric blue streaks and her eyes danced around the room, reading everyone like books, noticing more than anyone else ever did. Back then, she played for one of the most popular bands in the country and she dated his brother. Pamela and Sam's relationship burned short and hot. She introduced him to all the major players in the business and basically got the ball rolling with Sam's career as a producer. She lost her gig with the band a few years after that after losing the sight in both of her eyes. She never told Dean how, and Dean never asked. She could still play like the devil himself, and in a moment or reckless charity, she took the three young men under her wing and brought their music to a whole other level. There had been a few nights in the past years that Pam and Dean had spent together, usually brought on by a good show and a little too much booze, and always ended with Pam making fun of Dean's exuberant style. Dean had more respect for her than pretty much anyone else in his life.

Gabriel had come basically as a godsend. The group had been in desperate need of a keyboardist since its inception, and Gabriel Novak was the answer to their prayers. None of them knew much about him, except that he had criss-crossed the country doing various jobs from most of his life. From carpentry to teaching piano to acting. He apparently starred in a Pepsi commercial or something, and he'd never admit it, but Dean always swore that he'd seen him in an episode of Casa Erotica. He was the newest member of their little patchwork family, but his undeniable charm and uncanny ability to get along with everyone helped him fit in immediately.

The band currently had only one gig: The Roadhouse. Luckily it was twice a week, and the attendance was steadily increasing as they gained recognition. Dean had no illusions of grandeur, the band would never get anywhere if they just kept playing the same old rock songs, but they did sound damn good doing it, and Dean felt completely whole when he was performing. So they played their shows, he worked all week at the mechanic's downtown, and he tried in vain to find something inspiring enough to allow him to finally start writing his own music.

For now, well, he wasn't quitting his day job, but he had enough cash to pay for the basics- rent, food, beer, gas. Whenever he was lonely, he'd just choose one of the numbers left on the undersides of napkins left with Ellen after every show.


	2. Chapter 2: Communication Breakdown

The Roadhouse was a different place altogether when Castiel took the stage. The very same wooden walls and buzzing lights that sparked the electric atmosphere when Daeva played now hummed soothingly, wrapping their smoky arms around anyone who stepped through the doors. Friends chattered in low voices over round tables and half-finished beers.

This guitar didn't scream and command your attention, it asked for it with gentle strums and slow chords. This guitar didn't have a drum kit to accompany it, no backdrop of basslines and crashing cymbals. This guitar lay alone on stage, gently caressed in the hands of the man who sat centered in the spotlight, with his heels hooked over the crosspieces of the barstool .

His voice was the kind that you felt in your bones and sent shivers crawling up your spine. It dipped low, like the engine of a well-maintained old car, and rang out high and clear, making every person in the room draw in their breath sharply and hold it for a moment.

Blue eyes pierced from underneath shaggy black hair. They looked out above the heads of the murmuring crowd, not finding anyone in particular. He was on stage to share the notes and verses that came to him in the early mornings, after heartbreaks and whenever the sun shone brightly. He didn't bask in the attention, and liked it best when the faces were turned elsewhere, when the ears were towards him and the eyes away.

Thursdays and Fridays were the nights that Castiel lulled the crowd into forgetfulness for a few hours with his quiet words and strong presence.

_"Jesus Christ" _Cas swore under his breath. His keys hit the ground at the same moment his black guitar case caught in the narrow doorway. He fumbled to find the light switch and leaned his case against the wall of the hallway. Once his keys were in his hand, he rested against the wall for a minute, catching his breath after lugging his bike and soft-sided guitar case up the slippery wooden staircase.

_I need to start working out _he thought as he pulled off his snow-crusted woolen hat and shook his hair free. He struggled to get everything out of the cramped hallway without tracking mud and rapidly melting white powder all through the apartment.

A blind swipe of his hand flipped the switch for the living room lights on. Well, living room, slash dining room, slash bedroom. The one actual bedroom in the apartment had been converted into a studio. An oversized suede couch took up the entire far wall. Castiel had decided that rather than splitting his resources between buying a bed and a couch, he'd pool the cash and invest in a couch that could be both. He lived alone and rarely had guests, so it suited him just fine.

His favorite vinyl record sleeves were displayed on the walls, which were painted a pale blue. A few band and movie posters added more color to the otherwise sparsely decorated quarters.

Cas reached one hand behind the couch, pulling a face as he stretched down to snatch the plug-end of the Christmas lights. He let out a small sigh of success when the string of bulbs that was wrapped once around the room, where the walls met the ceiling, lit up, throwing multicolored circles onto the smooth surface. No tree stood in the corner, and there were no gifts, save one from his brother that sat in the center of the table, fighting for space against stacks of magazines and dirty dishes. Cs didn't even want to know what he'd find under the metallic wrapping paper.

Castiel's shoulders fell when he noticed the tidying-up that he had yet to do before he would let himself sleep. He groaned out loud when he saw the steady red blinking of the answering machine.

"Heya little brother!" Gabriel's voice filled the apartment. "Of course you're not in, the one night I want to actually talk to you. Anyhoo, I'm heading out of town on Monday. I'm uh, I'm going home for Christmas, and I really want you to come! We need someone who's life choices are worse than mine at the dinner table for dad to pick on." He paused for a moment; a slight hiss filled the silence. "But seriously man, they forgive you, and we want you home." The machine clicked and the blinking stopped.

Cas sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night. He had wanted to shed his family so long. It was like a layer of skin that constricted him, not painfully, but it made him itch. He had finally managed to squirm out of their suburban, church-going, polo shirt-wearing grasp two years ago. That is, until Gabe showed up in his new hometown-probably sent to keep tabs on him. It could have been worse; he could have had to put up with Raphael, his oh-so-good eldest brother. At least Gabe kept his distance and his sense of humor.

No, he wouldn't go home for Christmas dinner. He knew where the conversation would turn within minutes of the family sitting down, and that wasn't something he wanted to deal with. They didn't approve of basically any aspect of his life, so why subject himself to their judgment? He'd much prefer to bake himself a few batches of cookies, play his Canned Heat Christmas album and maybe take advantage of the extra time to record a few of his latest ideas.

On Friday morning, Castiel bundled himself up against the biting wind in his long black woolen coat, mittens and toque. After a few steps out of the door, he dashed back in the house to wrap a long red scarf around his mouth and nose. It was even colder than he expected.

Even though he was on his two-week holiday from his bookkeeping job at the Roadhouse, he still made his way down to the bar in the morning. He had nowhere better to be, and Ellen served a mean spiked apple cider. He also enjoyed the company.

"Good lord, it's Frosty the Morning Person!" Jo greeted Cas as he blew into the bar accompanied by a few million snowflakes. "But really Cas, it's your day off, and you played last night, how the hell are you awake?"

Castiel unwrapped himself from as many layers as he could. The snow was rapidly melting in the fireplace-heated room, and his coat was dripping onto the mopped floor. The Roadhouse was empty aside from himself, Jo, and a few skuzzy-looking regulars. The fact that anyone could be here this early with the sole intention of getting shitfaced made Cas sad.

"I've got nowhere to be." Cas said matter-of-factly. "And my apartment's cold." He admitted. He slid onto one of the dark oiled stools by the polished bar and pulled out his notebook. The cozy atmosphere was perfect for a day of writing.

It was three in the afternoon, and more customers were coming through the door, breathing out ice crystals like dragons and trailing dirty water which Ellen mopped up with only a hint of a scowl.

Three empty mugs and a small pile of crumpled pages sat at Cas's elbow. He looked around for Jo, hoping to ask her to whip up a burger, and possibly another cider, when he saw her at the end of the counter, valiantly putting up with a middle aged man who was being nothing short of an asshole.

"You'll get paid when you give me somethin' worth paying for." He slurred. "Tits get tips, don't they teach you that in Hooter's prep school?"

Jo's face was calm, but her eyes glared at him angrily. "Mr. Colt, I think you've had enough for one day. I'll call a cab, alright?" Her voice was tight, but level.

She walked around the counter to get the man's coat. As she leaned forward to put the ratty plaid jacket on the table, the man reached out to the side and tried to shove his shaking hand down the front of her shirt.

Before Cas was out of his seat, Jo had the situation handled.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She screamed, slapping his fingers away fiercely. The man chortled in between hiccoughs as she shoved him towards the door. "YOU CAN WAIT OUTSIDE FOR YOUR DAMN CAB. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? _SUCK MY DICK." _ She added the last bit as she slammed the door behind the reeking drunk. Everyone in the room who was aware of the situation broke out into applause. She blushed as she returned to the bar to clean up his place.

"Johanna- Beth, forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were a woman, and were not in the possession of any male sexual organs." Cas looked at her blankly with a slight tilt of his head. His face broke into a toothy grin and he shook his head when her eyebrow raised and she twisted her mouth. "But really Jo, nice work handling that jerk. I can pay you what he owes you if you want, I hate to see you cheated out of that much cash."

"Aw Cas, thanks, but we're good, you can't pick up the slack for a guy like that. He'll be back, we'll make sure he pays up." _I bet she will._

Cas glanced at the clock above the door. "Hey Jo, I'm gonna head home and get cleaned up and changed. I'll see you tonight!" He pulled on his mostly-dry coat. He had left his mittens in front of the small fireplace, so they were dry and toasty.

Jo was bent down behind the cash register, refilling the receipt paper, so she responded by sticking a hand above the counter and waving it around a bit. Cas chuckled and braced himself against the cold outside.

"_OH_, CAS WAIT!" Jo called out a minute too late. "You're… playing with Daeva tonight..." She trailed off when she realized he was out of the door and gone already.


	3. Chapter 3: Some Have Silver Linings

Cas could hear the music before he even opened the cab door. It was definitely too loud to be the radio. He cocked an ear to listen to the guitar riff that pulsed out from under the door. Led Zeppelin's _Over the Hills and Far Away. _Cas recognized it from one of the albums that he had had for as long as he could remember-not his usual tunes, but one that he would occasionally pluck out on his guitar.

_Many have I loved, and many times been bitten_

_"What the hell is going on?" _he breathed as he hefted his guitar from the backseat.

Being the sentimental sop he was, Cas paused before opening the door. The warm light streamed through the windows and splashed bright squares on the fresh snow on the ground. With the tacky wreath on the door, the Roadhouse looked like something off of a redneck Christmas card.

_Many times I've lied and many times I've listened_

The decibel level exploded when Cas pressed the door open with his shoulder. The house was packed. He waded through the dancing bodies to the bar to see Ellen after she caught his eye. He couldn't see the stage from where he was standing, but they sounded damn good-a bit loud and old-school for his tastes, but the singer had a nice voice.

"Bout time you showed up, boy!" Ellen had to lean over the bar and raise her voice so Cas could hear her.

"Unless I'm mistaken, it's Friday, am I right?" Cas ducked his head in close and held his guitar protectively against his hip. "My night, yeah? Who are these monkeys?"

"Wait, Jo didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That's Ash's band. Daeva. Your own _brother_ is in it. God Cas, it's like you don't even work here."

Cas shrugged and Ellen continued.

"They're regulars here, just like you. Anyway, some of their members are going away for awhile after tomorrow, and I thought it'd be a treat to have both of our most popular acts play on the same night!"

"Why wasn't I informed? I mean, I don't mind, I guess, but it's nice to know these things."

"You should have been! I told Jo to let you know this mornin'. Anyway, go scamper off and get ready, they'll be comin' off in a couple of songs." She shooed him away with her dishtowel and went back to polishing silverware.

Cas had to practically press himself against the wall to edge his way to the hallway that led backstage. Of course the door was right beside the stage, so he had to worm his way through the thickest part of the crowd- using his guitar case as a shield- to get there.

He was barely an arm's length away when he finally got to a location where the stage was visible. He froze. _Seriously, that was the man who that voice belonged to? Classic rock cover bands didn't have attractive singers, did they? Well hot damn, this one certainly did._

Cas forgot where he was headed. He was completely captivated by the man on stage. _What the hell, Cas?_ He thought, _the dude's wearing plaid. You can most definitely not hit that. Jesus, you've never used that phrase in your life, don't start now. _He paid attention to the lyrics now, letting the voice wash right over him. He was singing a whole octave below the original, which made it sound a hell of a lot sexier in Cas's personal opinion.

_I live for my dream and a pocketful of gold._

He found himself distracted by the way his lips carefully formed the words, the way his Adam's apple bobbed under the skin of his throat, the way his knees bent and his hips gently twisted to the beat that he tapped out with the heel of his boot on the floor. His eyes were closed, all of his focus going into the words that poured themselves into the microphone. _Oh fuck._ He opened them. He opened his eyes, and looked right at Cas. Of course Cas shrunk back against the wall. Those eyes were just so _green_! The singer held his gaze for a moment before smirking and dropping his eyes to the front row.

_Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missin', many many men can't see my open road._

Cas probably would have forgotten his own name if he hadn't heard it yelled in his ear at that very moment.

"Cas, HEY Cas!" Jo elbowed her way to stand next to him, shooting warning glances at a few of the surrounding men. "You've got like, five minutes dude. You should warm up."

Cas flashed her a quick smile and nodded, indicating that he'd heard her.

"Yeah, gotcha Jo. I'll just be a second. "

Jo was about to turn away and go back to serving when she followed Cas's eyes to the stage. She pivoted back with a smirk.

"They're pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah. Um, yes." Cas said distractedly. "Jo, who's he?"

Jo let out a short laugh. "Him? The singer?"

"Mhmm."

"Dean Winchester. He's a bit of a big fish in a small pond, you really haven't heard of him?"

"I think I would remember if I had."

"I'm sure you would! He's a bit gorgeous. Trouble though. He can drink like a demon, fights like one too. And uh, if I was to count the people in this room he's taken home, I'd have to take off my shoes and use my toes." Jo softly punched Cas' shoulder. "Now go get your ass on stage."

_Dean Winchester… _The name suited him, casual yet sophisticated at the same time, It reminded Cas of southern towns and royalty simultaneously. Castiel finally tore his eyes off of him and pushed through to the backstage door. Curiously, he pulled back the curtains that hung over the side entrance to the stage. Of course, he looked just as good from behind. His shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, and it hit right at the curve of his ass. A bead of sweat trickled through the space between his hairline and his flannel collar, Cas bit his lip nervously. Someone else caught Cas' attention from the corner of his eye. His eyes met his brother behind his keyboard, who was wearing a big sloppy grin.

_Go fuck yourself! _Gabriel mouthed.

Cas reached into the front pocket of his guitar case and pulled out his middle finger, waving it in front of the curtain as he let it fall. It was immature, but Gabriel always brought out the worst in him.

Cas perched on the backrest of the red couch in the back room and busied himself tuning his guitar and trying not to think about Dean, which was difficult to do when his voice reverberated down the hall and through the thin walls.

He took the slowly receding applause as his cue to make his way towards the stage. He swung his Les Paul around so it rested on an angle across his back and he checked his reflection one more time in the warped mirror above the cooler. His stomach twisted as he walked the narrow passageway to the stage. He hadn't been nervous to go on stage since college, but now his shoulders tensed up when he heard Jo's casual voice echo from on stage.

"Can I hear y'all shout it out one more time for Daeva?" She crowed through the mic, after hip-checking Dean out of the way. "That's more like it! They'll be back on later tonight, but for now, we've got another great treat for you."

Cas leaned one shoulder against the wall beside the stairs, waiting for the band to come offstage and for Jo to introduce him. He drummed his calloused fingers on the side of his guitar, finding himself picking out the beat to the song Dean had been singing when he came in the door. _Many is a word that only leaves you guessin'. Guessin' 'bout a thing you really ought to know._

His wandering thoughts were interrupted when the man himself emerged from behind the stage curtain, laughing about something someone had screamed from the audience. Cas straightened up and shuffled sideways to allow him space. He was taller than he expected, almost two inches above Cas, so he has to look up slightly to meet his eyes. Not that he did, of course, he dropped his own to his scuffed red sneakers. He half hoped that Dean would just pass him by. No such luck.

"Hey man, you've gotta be that Novak guy that Jo mentioned." Dean had paused and backtracked a step when he noticed Cas, who suddenly felt a whole lot warmer. "Thanks for letting us share your night, or whatever. I'm Dean, I don't think we've had the pleasure."

Cas' eyes crawled up Dean's body to reach his forest-green eyes. "Hello Dean." He replied quietly.

"Not much of a talker eh? That's fine. Anyway, I got the crowd all warmed up for you. Careful though, there's a couple of college girls in the second row who are just gonna hurl themselves at you. For the love of God, don't play anything by that Bieber kid, you'll have an uproar-in more ways than one. Good luck!" He clapped Cas on the shoulder and continued on his way to the back room. In a snap decision, Cas turned.

"Dean!" He called, and Dean looked over his shoulder. "Nice job up there."

Dean smiled almost shyly and ducked his head. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets before turning away again.

Cas' heart was pounding harder than it had before his first recital in fifth grade. He barely noticed when the rest of the band breezed past him and Gabriel ruffled his hair. The blood was so loud in his ears that ne almost missed his signal to go on.

_"Alright ladies and ladies, you've heard our best kept secret, now for our other hometown hero, give it up for Castiel Novak!" _

Cas took a deep breath and shrugged through the curtains with a fixed smile, focusing on not accidentally replacing the name _Meghan _in his first song.


	4. Chapter 4: Learn to Fly Again

While the rest of the band was mingling with the crowd, grabbing drinks, making out in the bathrooms with groupies-or in Gabe's case, trying to rig the spotlight to shine in the shape of a penis on his brother, Dean sat against the wall in the hallway, drinking in the sound of Castiel's music along with his cold Budweiser. Something about the guy just struck him. He had picked his face out of the crowd at random, part of his usual act, but he couldn't just move past his gaze like usual. When Jo had mentioned the singer/songwriter that morning on the phone, he had pictured someone completely different- some scrawny twerp with crooked teeth and a pathetic moustache or something. He honestly hadn't given it much thought, but the serene man on stage with the sad but kind eyes was a complete shock to his system.

Dean rested his head against the cold concrete wall, feeling the vibrations of Castiel's deep voice through his skull. He reached up and out to the side with his pinkie and pulled the black curtain aside. From his angle he couldn't see much more than the singer's sneakers crossed underneath his stool. He could see his elbow pumping like a piston, strumming in a strong, steady rhythm. His left hand slid up and down the neck of the guitar, his fingers picking out an intricate series of notes and chords which soon fell into a comfortable pattern. It wasn't a song Dean had ever heard before, and he couldn't imagine anybody but this familiar stranger playing it.

He sang song after song about leaving home, falling in love, out of love, giving up, being strong. Dean listened to his soulful words with his beer held loosely in his right hand between his knees. He wanted to know everything that had happened to this guy to give him so much to write about. Dean had experienced a lot of crap in his life, but nothing that could spark such emotional outlet.

He didn't realize he had dozed off until he was being nudged ungraciously in the ribs by a pair of silver-tipped cowboy boots.

"Ayyy, Dean. Ellen wants us to do a collab with the Novak guy for a big finale." Garth was drumming his fingers across the top of Dean's head. "Apparently she wants Christmas songs. I'm down with that, but do you even know any?" Dean groaned.

"Hands off the merchandise man." He swiped Garth's scrawny hand off of his hair. "Seriously, _Christmas_ music? Who does she think we are, the Plastics?"

"Wait, you've seen that?"

"Shut up."

Dean heard Pamela around the corner complaining about her lazy bandmates to one of her friends.

"Cool it Pam!" Garth shouted over his shoulder, "Sleeping Beauty's awake, the show goes on."

Dean used the wall as leverage to haul himself back to his feet. He shook off the pins and needles and followed Garth up the stairs onto the stage. Castiel looked up from the stool at center-stage and gave him a quick smile. All his bandmates already had their instruments ready to go. Dean pulled the microphone close and addressed the audience with a nod and a grin. He glanced around behind him and shot a quick wink at the man on the stool who was watching him intently, waiting for directions.

"Alright you insatiable suckers, you wanted Christmas tunes, and we shall provide. What do you want to hear?"

"So basically, there's a reason it's illegal for donkeys to sleep in bathtubs in Arizona."

The holiday jam session had been a rousing success. It had started with the upbeat staples-Jingle Bell Rock, Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer- but when Cas lulled them all into a hush with a haunting version of Silent Night, the whole crowd joined in on the last few tunes.

Now they were all lounged in the back room, swigging beers and laughing themselves hoarse over each other's stories. The clock ticked steadily along, and by three a.m., all of the performers aside from Dean, Castiel and Ash had excused themselves and headed home.

The house lights were up in the main room of the bar, and all of the remaining patrons had exchanged their standing-room-only spaces for seats in booths and around the wooden tables. A few girls still danced to the muffled music on the radio in the corner, but mostly, it was quiet as Dean and Castiel helped Ellen and Jo gather empty bottles and used napkins from the tables.

"Alrighty ladies and gents, last call. Pack yourselves up, I'm calling cabs!" Ellen addressed the room. "Make sure you're bundled up nice and tight, it's a freezer out there!"

Dean found himself across a table from Castiel, who was focusing intently on showing a specific stubborn ketchup spill who was boss. His mouth was a straight, tight line drawn across his face.

"Hey Cas," Dean said, "It's alright if I call you Cas, yeah? Lemme show you my super secret trick for getting that dried crap off the tables."

"Yes of course, Dean. Everyone calls me that, why should you be any different?" Cas looked up from the table, his forehead still wrinkled from his concentration. Dean wouldn't admit it, but it was seriously adorable. Dean smirked as he spit a huge gob of saliva onto his rag and worked it into the table, wiping away the clump of ketchup and leaving it shining.

"That cannot be sanitary. You are positively feral!" Cas said, with a raised eyebrow. Dean shrugged.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I suppose." Cas watched Dean as he tossed his dirty cloth over the counter into the sink. Dean should have felt uncomfortable but he honestly didn't.

"Hey Cas, how are you getting home?" Dean blurted out, before the words caught in his throat. "I mean, all of the cabs are taken,"

"I was planning on just walking I suppose." Cas said plainly.

"No man, I can't let you walk, not in this shitstorm. Grab your coat, I'll give you a lift." Cas' eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you sure? I'm twenty minutes away, it'll be longer with the snow on the roads."

_Sounds fine to me. _Dean thought.

"It's no problem, really. I've got a full tank and nowhere to be in a hurry."

Cas smiled and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"I'd like that a lot, Dean, thank you!"

Dean couldn't hide his smile even if he tried as he pulled his worn-soft leather jacket off of the wooden peg by the door. Cas dashed to the backroom to grab his guitar, and was back within a minute. Dean couldn't help but watch Cas' nimble fingers as they buttoned up his coat.

Dean brushed the fallen snow off of the windshield of his Impala with the sleeve of his jacket and prayed that she would start up on the first try. She'd never let him down before, but there was a first time for everything. His luck was such that it would probably happen in on the coldest day of the year so far. Cas was struggling to fit his guitar case in the backseat around all of the boxes that were piled haphazardly there.

"Whoa man, let me help you." Dean opened the other back door and leaned across to shift a bit of the mess out of the way enough for Cas to offload his cargo.

"What is all of this stuff?" Cas huffed after he successfully slid his case along the floor of the car and carefully shut the door, making sure none of the contents of the backseat fell out.

"Um, a month or so ago something came up and I had to pick up some of my stuff from my brother's place." _Don't blab about your family, the guy doesn't care. _"I couldn't really fit all of it into my new place, and I don't want to sell it." Dean smiled sheepishly. "It's actually mostly music and movies. Some books. I guess I'm a bit of a hoarder."

Dean pulled the door open with a metallic groan- _I've seriously got to oil these damn hinges-_and dropped onto the leather seat behind the wheel. He grinned at Cas when he took extra effort to knock all of the clinging snow off of his shoes before sliding into the passenger seat. He turned the key with tight lipped grimace and whooped when she roared to life.

"Just give her a second to warm up." Dean cranked the heater as high as it could go. Cas nodded and nervously knocked his knees together. _Okay, a grown man shouldn't be this cute. _Dean looked out his window at the snow, down at the wheel, anywhere but Cas.

"What happened with your brother?" Cas broke the silence, before quickly stuttering. "Oh, I.. I'm sorry, should I not ask? We don't have to talk about it." He was clearly a bit embarrassed about prying.

"Cas, it's okay. Don't sweat it." Dean put the Impala in gear and guided her out of the parking lot and onto the streetlight-illuminated highway. It was empty aside from a few black taxi cabs pulling off onto various side streets. Dean took a deep breath.

"My brother, Sam, well we were close as kids. Pretty much inseparable actually. Well a few years ago, he went off to become a producer. He's done pretty well for himself too, he's in L.A. with a couple of big-time clients I guess." Dean had no idea why he was opening up to this guy who he barely knew, but Cas just seemed like someone he could talk to. He coughed. "I didn't agree with his career choice. Mainstream music just gives me the shivers, but he embraced it completely. Like, what the hell man? He was raised on the same shit I was, but suddenly he's too good for it? My dad was pretty broken up about it too. Essentially disowned him when he packed up for California."

"I'm really sorry Dean. It's hard to lose contact with family." Cas' electric blue eyes met Dean's from the other side of the darkened car. Dean turned off on the next street at Cas' direction.

"We didn't talk for a few years after that. It was okay, we sort of accepted our differences. I kept playing in bars. I went to college, got an apprenticeship at an automechanic's. Two months ago I was in Los Angeles while doing a mini-tour with Daeva. Pamela insisted that we drop in on Sam." Cas inhaled sharply. "The visit was going pretty well. We went out for dinner- He paid, of course- and he introduced me to a couple of his hotshot friends. I kept my mouth shut. The night, I uh, I got drunk and accused him of some shit I probably shouldn't have. Not that I didn't mean it, the son of a bitch shouldn't have left his family behind like that. He didn't even get to talk to dad again before his stroke.

"Anyway, I cleared out the stuff that he had held on to for me. He pretty much kicked me out. " Dean found his voice getting thick, and decided to shut up before me made complete idiot of himself. "God Cas, I'm being a total teenage girl here, just tell me to screw off any time."

"Why would I do that Dean? What you're doing takes a lot of courage." His eyes hadn't left Dean since he started telling his sob story. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What about you Mr. Mysteriouso, what's your family like? You've probably got a big family that calls you, am I right? Got a cute girlfriend, new puppy?" Dean looked at Cas sideways, and Cas ducked his head finally.

"Not exactly. I haven't spoken to most of my family for years. They're extremely conservative, and I guess I just needed to breathe. They were… overly religious in my opinion-I mean they named us all after angels for fuck's sake-and when I began to question my faith, they didn't exactly support me. That and… a few other things that I admitted to them." Dean alternated watching the road and looking at the dark haired man who was visibly shrinking as he spilled his secrets to him. Nobody had ever trusted Dean with anything, this was weird… and nice.

"I followed their plan for me to a point. I attended college, became an accountant- I do the books for some of the businesses in this town. It pays the bills." He shrugged. "But all I really wanted to pursue was music. I guess I got that from my older brother. Gabriel left home while we were still in high school, they don't talk about him much back at home."

"Wait, Gabriel? Gabe? He's your brother?"

"Yeah." Cas sighed and watched the snow falling outside of his window. Through the windshield the snow racing towards them made Dean feel like he was piloting the Millennium Falcon through hyperspace.

"I guess we've both got shitty families." Dean mumbled.

They drove the rest of the way to Cas' apartment complex in comfortable silence, both men feeling lighter after discussing their painful pasts.

"Is this it?" Dean leaned forward to look up at the two storey brick building. When Cas nodded he pulled upturned down the radio and cut the engine. He turned sideways to drape his arm over the back of his seat.

"Thank you so much." Cas said quickly. "Walking in that snow would have been absolutely miserable."

"Don't mention it, really." Their breath was starting to fog up the windows since the heating had shut off with the car. "So I'll see you around I guess. We should play together again sometime, you're pretty kickass."

Cas' hand paused on its way to the door handle. "I'd really like that, Dean."

Dean bit his lip. He had a sharp feeling in his gut, as if this was an opportunity he shouldn't let himself miss. _What was it about Cas that his family shunned him for? He seemed like a pretty solid guy. _He thought, _was he…? _It was worth a shot. "Wait, Cas." He closed the distance between them on the cold seat, and when Cas didn't shrink away from his hand on his jaw, he pressed his lips quickly to Cas' chapped pale ones. He pulled away to meet Cas' eyes, not dropping his hand from where it rested against his cheek.

"Is this alright?" Dean asked, staring into the striking blue eyes that were widened in surprise. He was about to drop back, embarrassed, when Cas' hands were at the back of his neck and his hot breath was on his mouth. _I'll take that as a yes._ Dean pressed Cas against the cold window less gently this time, rejoicing when the hands moved up to grip at his hair and pull his mouth closer. Dean fisted at Cas' red woolen scarf and pulled it away to move his lips roughly against Cas' neck. Cas gasped for air, twisting his fingers in Dean's hair. Dean had essentially crawled across the seat so that there wasn't even enough space for his hands between their bodies. His lips broke away from Cas' neck only when his mumblings formed into words.

"Dean, um, Dean?" Dean let his forehead fall on Cas' heaving chest.

"Yeah Cas?"

"Where did that come from?" Cas asked, and Dean let out a soft laugh.

"I'm not actually sure! I'm guessing that's a no on the girlfriend front, huh?" Cas laughed softly now too, resting his chin in Dean's wild hair.

"Definitely a no. But a definite yes on seeing you around." Dean could feel the smile that blossomed on Cas' face in his hair.

"I should probably let you get inside." Dean murmured reluctantly against his warm chest.

"You could, um, come with me, I mean… if you wanted to." Dean's head jerked up to see Cas' shy smile.

"Really?" Dean stuttered. "I mean I'd love to. I really really would, but let's go slow, this is a little much for one night I think." Dean had never had a problem with sex on the first day before, but for some reason he wanted to make this time a little more meaningful.

"Wait, you mean you've never…" Cas' eyes widened again.

"Not with a dude, no." Dean admitted, and Cas' breath came out sharply.

"Well I'll take that as a compliment I guess."

Dean slid himself back to his side of the car as Cas opened the door and stepped out. He could still see little flashing lights behind his eyes and feel Castiel's tongue against his lips. Cas extracted his beloved guitar from the chaos of the back seat and the door creaked shut when he pushed it with his hip. Cas' face dropped to the window to give Dean a smile and a wave before starting up the rickety stairs that clung to the wall up to his apartment. Dean watched until the door clicked shut and the one visible window filled with light. He started his car and pulled out from the curb, grinning as he saw a silhouette appear in the window in his rearview mirror. This was a big night for firsts. He shook his head and laughed softly while he turned up the radio.

_Baby, I think tonight  
We can take what was wrong and make it right  
Baby, it's all I know that you're half of the flesh  
And blood that makes me whole, I need you so._

_So take these broken wings  
And learn to fly again, learn to live so free  
When we hear the voices sing  
The book of love will open up and let us in_


	5. Chapter 5:Swing It

It was five days before Christmas, and it had been three days since Cas' makeout session with the gorgeous singer from Daeva in his car. Cas tentatively reached one arm out from under his pile of duvets and quilts to grab his phone and check the time. _8:30._ Honestly, a week of free mornings and his body won't let him sleep in on any of them. He pulled his arm back in, out of the chilly room and ducked his head under the covers too, and tried to fall back asleep. It's in vain, his mind keeps wandering off, so he fights his way off of the couch. It was freezing in his shoebox apartment, so he kept the top blanket-a white feather duvet- wrapped around himself, covering him head to toe. Cas shuffled across the floor to turn the thermostat up higher, hoping it would actually kick in today.

Cas figured that today was the last day he could possibly send out his Christmas cards and have them arrive on time, so he pulled out the box of dollar store greeting cards and his address book and got to work. He didn't have many people to send them to, thankfully- Meg, Anna, one for the crew at the Roadhouse, one for each of the businesses he worked for.

He was nearly done filling the cards with his (hopefully) sincere messages, when one card made him pause. He pulled it off the top of the pile. The card was a shimmering, brilliant green, with holly leaves adorning each corner. Cas sat for a moment, trying to place when and where he had seen that exact shade of green, when his phone went off, making him jump and drop the card.

"Hello?" He croaked. His voice wasn't exactly stage-worthy first thing in the morning.

"Cas!" A deep voice breathed his name on the other end.

"Dean? I didn't know you had my number. It's nice to hear from you." Cas ran his cold hand through his hair, making it stand on end. His heart fluttered uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I got it from Jo. Does that sound creepy? Am I being creepy? Crap."

"No no, it's fine. I uh, was planning to do the same thing actually. So what's the occasion?" Cas was trying his hardest not to let his voice shake.

"Wow, okay so I heard Ellen wanted you to come in tonight and play a couple of songs, yeah?"

"Mmhmm, yeah, I'm heading over around eight, why?"

"Well it's my day off." Dean cleared his throat. "I was thinking of coming down and watching you play, and if you want-only if you want- I could be there a bit earlier and we could grab a bite before your show?" Cas smiled at the ceiling as he leaned back on the armrest of his couch, not believing his ears.

"If you're willing to put up with two hours of Christmas music, I'd love to have you in the audience! And eating, eating sounds brilliant."

"Alright! That sounds great. I'll pick you up at seven."

"I-oh." Cas heard a beep as Dean hung up. "Not so good with goodbyes then." He murmured as he tossing his phone onto the ottoman.

Cas couldn't stop himself from looking out the window every thirty seconds or so. _You seriously need to calm the heck down Cas._ He checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror again. He pulled his hair over to the other side, brushed it forward into his eyes, pushed it up and back off his forehead before he gave up and shook it into a black mess, letting the stands fall wherever the hell they wanted. He hadn't shaved, but it went with the look. His red checked shirt looked festive enough, and he left it open over a Grinch t-shirt. _You are the tackiest loser in the history of everything. _Cas' chin shot up when there was string of raps on the door_. Is he knocking 'Hot Blooded' on my door?_

Cas let in a sharp breath when he opened the door to Dean Winchester, who stood with his legs apart, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking at Cas from under thick dark lashes. Castiel himself was still shoving his arms through the sleeves of his own coat and kicking his heels down into his shoes. He slid one of the straps of his guitar case over his arm and flapped his hands awkwardly at his sides. Dean raised an eyebrow at his shirt and grinned.

"That's cute." He gestured to Cas' chest, where his coat remained unbuttoned. Cas looked down.

"Shut up." He quickly stepped forward and pressed his lips softly to Dean's. "Thanks for coming." He whispered.

"How could I not?" Dean returned the kiss before pulling back and half-jogging down the stairs, sliding the last few steps on the banister. _You cheeky bugger_. Cas smiled to himself and started carefully down the steps.

"I had to beat you to the car so I could open your door, didn't I?" Dean mock-bowed as he opened the passenger door, flourishing an arm and gesturing to Cas to take his seat. Cas felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he ducked his head to get in. He followed Dean with his eyes while he walked around the front of his car to let himself into the driver's side.

The streets had been plowed, so the drive didn't take nearly as long as it had a few nights ago. Dean had a rock station playing softly over the radio, and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. He looked surprised when Cas reached over and turned it up, then leaned back and began humming along.

_She's my cherry pie, cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise, tastes so good it brings a tear to my eye. Sweet cherry pie!_

"Wait, you like this song?" Dean raised his eyebrows and Cas smiled sheepishly.

"Yes," He admitted. "I find it a bit vulgar, but I've never been able to resist singing along."

Dean smiled. "I thought I had you pegged, guess I was wrong." He raised his voice to sing along.

_I scream, you scream, we all scream for her, don't even try 'cause you can't ignore her._

Dean was beautiful when he smiled. Against the window, his profile looked like a bust of a Roman god… If that bust came to life and was laughing and singing not two feet from Cas. Cas figured this was one of those Kodak moments that he'd want to remember as a crotchety old man._ In the car with Dean on our first date… _ He focused on memorizing Dean's face, his voice, the steady tapping of his fingers. If Dean was uncomfortable with Cas' staring, he didn't say anything. They sang with the radio like two teenagers on their first joyride with the car's motor humming beneath them and the heater pumping out warm air. Cas had never felt so at home in his entire life.

"Hey there strangers!"

The boys were seated across from one another in one of the cramped booths at the Roadhouse. They had helped themselves to a beer each, and now Ellen was standing at the head of the table with her hands on her hips. She looked tired, but she was smiling brightly.

"Well I see you two are gettin' along! We were a bit worried about that actually. I'm assuming you're eating?"

They made their orders and Ellen retreated to the kitchen after turning on her heel and sneaking a wink at Cas.

"Worried?" Cas wondered aloud, "Why they hell would they be worried about us not getting along?"

Dean shrugged, fiddling with the little cardboard drink menu. "I dunno, you're quiet, I'm… not. I don't make friends too easily I guess, I don't know about you."

"Same, I suppose… Well, you know what they say about opposites." A smile spread across Dean's face when Cas said that, little crinkles lacing at the corners of his eyes.

Cas picked at his fries. He was never particularly hungry before playing a gig. Dean, however was halfway through devouring a massive burger.

"Do you eat like this every day?" Cas gestured with his chin towards Dean's meal.

"Yeah, problem?" Dean replied reproachfully through a mouthful.

"No." Cas shrugged, "Well, not yet anyway. Do you have any idea how that burger will affect your cholesterol when you're older? Not to mention the fat and sodium. Did you know that a diet like this can also greatly affect your sex drive and performance?"

"You my friend," Dean pointed his burger at Cas defensively, "are a buzzkill if I ever met one." He took another bite and added "And I've never had an issue in that department. Seriously, ask anyone." He gestured wildly around the room with his half eaten burger.

_I bet. _Cas snorted into his beer.

"So, you doing anything for Christmas?" Cas tossed the question out lightly.

"Nah. I've never been big into these holiday crapfests. Consumerist money-grabs if you ask me. I'll probably log some hours at the shop, get some overtime pay. You?"

Cas' eyes slid down to his plate. "Same. I mean, I like it and all, it's cute, and I was raised Christian. I just like it for the comfort now. I'll be home, writing… watching cheesy movies." He looked up and met Dean's eyes. "I dunno, maybe you could come over? Seeing as neither of us has anyone else, I mean." He blushed again.

"See no reason why not." Dean shrugged, "But let's do my place, I've got heating." He plucked a fry from Cas' plate, only to have his hand smacked away.

"As if you didn't have enough on your own plate?"

The Roadhouse was slowly filling up as the clock neared nine. It wasn't as large a crowd as it had been on the night Cas and Dean had played together, but it was far from empty. These were the quiet few days before the explosive ones between Christmas and New Years. Cas only had half an hour before they expected him on stage, so he excused himself from the table to go tune his guitar and warm up.

Dean shifted restlessly in his seat, his eyes wandering around the bar. There were a lot of hot women in the house tonight, but they didn't do a thing for Dean this time. _None of them are as pretty as Cas, _Dean was surprised when the thought crossed his mind. "God damn it" he breathed as he pushed himself off of the bench and crossed the room to the backstage door.

"Hi Dean!" Cas was sitting cross-legged on the scarlet couch, alternating humming a note and twisting a peg on the head of his guitar so the tune matched when he plucked at the string. His hand stilled when he saw that Dean hadn't moved. "You alright?"

Cas only had enough time to get his guitar safely on the floor behind the couch before Dean's lips were crushing into his. Dean ran his tongue just along the inside of Cas's lips, begging for entrance, tipping his jaw sideways to get closer once Cas admitted it. Their upper bodies were parallel to each other on the couch, Cas head resting on the arm with one of Dean's hands cushioning it. Dean swung one knee onto the seat so he was poised over Castiel's body. He moaned Cas' name into his mouth when he felt his strong hips roll up against his own. His body came down with Cas', and he ground himself into Cas' thigh as he dropped his mouth to his neck.

Dean slid his hands down past Cas' chest, his waist, his hips, and pressed them down on the growing bulge in his jeans. He'd never given a blowjob before, but he'd been on the receiving end of many, and he figured he could pull it off decently.

_"D..Dean," _Cas stuttered breathlessly. "Dean, I go on stage in twenty minutes man, is... is… this the best ti- _ohh shit"_

"You underestimate me Cas!" Dean smirked. "I won't take nearly that long to finish you off." And with that he freed Cas' erection from the tightening denim. He brought himself up on his hands and knees, having to drop one leg off of the couch as his body folded. He brought his mouth down, not releasing contact with those blue eyes until his hot breath over Cas' briefs made him tilt his head back over the armrest, so all Dean could see was his rugged jaw. Cas' hand roughly fisted Dean's hair, pulling his head down, and Dean obliged, pulling the elastic waistband down and taking Cas into his mouth. Encouraged by the ragged breaths coming from the far end of the couch, Dean ran his tongue along the underside of the shaft. His hands flew up to still Cas' hips and he repeated the motion, taking even more in on the next downward stroke. Dean pulled himself up to Cas' face, silencing his panting with his own swollen lips. He inhaled sharply when his own crotch brushed against Cas' bare cock. He dropped back down, closing his lips over the moist head before continuing in a steady rhythm, massaging Cas' thighs in small circles with his thumb. Dean was living for Cas' fingernails digging into his scalp, for the strained sound of his own name from far above him. When Cas came, he didn't give a fuck if his name echoed down the hall, it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. The fingers entangled in his hair guided him up, and Cas' flushed lips moved along Dean's chin and jaw, cleaning up the sticky mess.

Their bodies collided like boulders, and suddenly Dean was on his back with Cas hovering above him, one graceful hand was undoing his belt. _God damn he's strong._ Dean marveled, not even knowing how he had managed to flip him over. Cas' lips stayed glued to his though, his hand wrapped around Dean's cock, twisting and pumping for a ridiculously short time before it was his turn to hear his name screamed into his neck.

They stayed on the couch until they could both breathe again, Cas' weight entirely on Dean, but he didn't mind in the least.

"Cas?" Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "I hope you've got an extra pair of pants." He gestured to the drying substance on the thighs of Cas' jeans as they sat up. The Grinch shirt had miraculously avoided damage.

"Well fuck."

With one glance, both of them erupted into laughter, laughing until their sides hurt and the breath was gone from their lungs again.

Dean was disappointed about missing Cas' performance, but he didn't have much choice. Cas was wearing (what hopefully nobody recognized as) Dean's slightly too-long jeans, and Dean was in nothing but his Batman boxer shorts as they shuffled down the hallway, looking around corners like they were in a frickin' spy movie or something. At the back door, they paused under the red glow of the Emergency Exit light.

"Knock 'em dead, Cas!" Dean said with a grin before pushing open the door. He was dreading the sprint through the snow to his car. He mentally thanked Ellen again for giving him a reserved parking spot at the back of the building. Dean sucked in a breath of air and took the plunge, spurred into action by Castiel pinching his bottom. Dean could hear Cas' barking laugh even when he was in his car with the tires squealing on the slippery pavement.

Cas was nearly done playing for the night, Ellen hadn't asked him to come in for very long. The only people paying any attention to him were a few drunken older men who were sat around a large table near the stage. Their wobbling voices joined Cas on several songs, missing most of the words, but Cas appreciated the enthusiasm. He was relieved when he caught a glimpse of a familiar leather jacket on the sidewalk outside of the frosty window.

Dean entered the Roadhouse in a cloud of ice crystals, like a hero in an 80's fantasy movie- aside from the exaggerated comical shiver that wriggled through his whole body. He stomped his feet and cupped his red hands over his mouth to warm them. He gave Cas a smile and wave that made his heart stutter, before taking his seat in the same booth they had sat at earlier that evening. He hoped nobody in the audience noticed the red creeping into his cheeks.

After a final round of Sleigh Bells, Cas gave a small bow and left the stage. He set his Les Paul gently on the stand just offstage before heading over to join Dean, who was feigning gagging over his beer. Cas childishly stuck out his tongue while grabbing his own drink before he slid into the booth across from Dean.

"If I never hear another jingle bell in my life, it'll be too soon." Cas grumbled.

"Bah humbug yourself, Scrooge."

They made casual conversation for awhile; Cas never knowing whether he wanted to look into Dean's dancing eyes or watch the gentle seductive motion of his curved lips as he spoke. He hadn't realized how his mind had wandered off until Dean was leaning forward on his elbows, one eyebrow raised expectantly, a question on his lips.

"Hmm what?" Cas snapped back into the moment. Dean leaned even further across the table so his lips nearly touched Castiel's ear.

"I said," He whispered heavily, "Do you wanna get out of here?" Cas felt his breath under his ear. Dean pulled away with a half smile tugging at his lips, the question playing all over his face.

Dean and Cas left the bar together. Dean swung an arm forward to open the door for Castiel and guided him out with one hand placed softly on the small of his back. Cas could feel Ellen and Jo's gawking stares burning on his back, and he could see the color rise on Dean's exposed neck.

"Bet they weren't expecting that!" Dean laughed after the door swung shut behind them.

"Um, I'm not so sure." Cas indicated to the window where he had just glimpsed the two women exchanging an exuberant high-five. He couldn't stop himself from giggling at Dean's alarm.

"But… they haven't thought… _Really?_" It was Cas' turn to grab Dean's bare hand and tug him towards the car.

"Come on Dumbo."


	6. Chapter 6: Celebration Day

The days leading up to Christmas passed for Dean in a blur of overtime work and solo rehearsals. The roads stayed icy, so nearly every day he had another bumper to reshape, winter tires to install, broken headlights to repair. He had to be reminded by his boss a time or two not to lose his head at idiots who wouldn't _stay off the fucking roads if they couldn't fucking use their fucking brakes properly. Fuck._

He did find himself humming and singing a lot more as he went about his work though. His voice would seep out from underneath the Camry he was installing the skid plates on, or bounce off of the chrome on the Ford truck with the dented sides. He hadn't felt so lighthearted in years, and even his co-workers noted the fact that he hadn't come in hungover for over a week- a new record for Dean.

Of course, it wasn't all work, no play. There were lunch dates and late night drives and furtive minutes that passed too quickly with sweaty hands sliding down bare skin in public bathrooms. Secrets were whispered under streetlights, and by the time Dean heard Cas tapping on his door on the twenty-fourth, he felt as if he'd known him his entire life.

_Be cool Dean. _He turned down the stereo slightly as he passed it. His apartment was as tidy as he could get it and dinner was on the table-meaning the floor was swept, the dishes were done, and his coffee table held a pizza and a case of beer. He slid his hands down the faded thighs of his jeans to wipe away the dampness in his palms. It had been over a week since they had met, but every time he saw Castiel it felt like the very first time. _You are so whipped Dean Winchester,_ he thought on his way to the door.

Dean opened the door with a _whoosh_ of icy air, a noise which was repeated when Dean caught sight of Cas on his doorstep. His black coat was buttoned to his chin, framing his frozen rosy cheeks. The fog rising from his mouth in little puffs settled in his hair, so the locks at the front were spiked and they caught the light, so the pale yellow porch light formed a glowing halo around his head. He stepped forward and enfolded Dean in a hug. Dean felt his cold hands through his thin t-shirt.

"Come on in Cas!"

Cas bet down and lifted a small canvas bag off of the concrete. "I brought movies." He said shyly, before stepping over the threshold past Dean, who swiftly closed the frigid night air out.

"So it's that kind of party." Dean hung up Cas' coat while Cas shook the melting crystals from his hair. "Let me show you around."

Dean wasn't proud of his digs, but it was home. The ground floor apartment in a tiny complex on the outskirts of a one-horse town in the American Midwest wasn't exactly the penthouse rock star lifestyle he had dreamed of as a kid, but he had learned to accept and even love the life he had made for himself. Now, watching Castiel wander gingerly through his home, Dean began to imagine an entire other future. Cas took in everything the apartment had to offer, the Star Trek posters on the wall, the shelves overflowing with books and CDs, the guitars flanking the door, the IKEA couch, the rusty faucet in the kitchen sink. Though Cas scrutinized everything through squinted eyes, Dean didn't feel his privacy being invaded. He had nothing to hide from him.

"Want a beer?" Dean asked Cas, throwing himself down on the firm couch.

"Mmmhm, might as well." Cas turned to him, his hands awkwardly stuffed in his back pockets. Dean uncapped two, and slid one across the low table to Cas, who had settled down on the rug, propped up on his elbows. "Seriously Dean? Not even lights?"

"What? I told you I didn't buy into the holiday shit."

"Uh huh, and that's why you basically begged for my company tonight."

"Well excuse me!" Dean snorted derisively, "In my memory, you were the one doing the begging."

"You could at least have a tree, for tradition's sake."

"Tough." Dean sipped his beer through a relaxed smile and eased back into the couch. They were silent for a few moments while Cas continued to absorb his surroundings. He was the kind of person who did that- paid attention, watched the world. You could take him anywhere and wait for five minutes just for him to finish looking around. Even then he never stopped observing, trying to understand everything all the time. He could never get tired of seeing Cas in awe of the world, finding the brilliance in the mundane. Dean supposed he did that with people too, and he wondered what Cas understood about him that even he didn't.

"Damn it Dean, we should have a tree." Cas pushed himself to his feet suddenly.

"Where the hell are we gonna get a tree after dark on Christmas Eve? And I just got freakin' comfortable."

"We'll make one, Dean! Come on!" Cas was suddenly as excited as a puppy at dinner time. Dean grumbled, but didn't resist when Cas hauled him up by the hand. _"And grab your keys!"_

"What the hell is going on?" Dean growled, lacing up his work boots.

Outside, Cas was leaning against the Impala, arms crossed over his chest. Dean unlocked the doors and looked at him questioningly. There was no way he was driving anywhere to buy- or make (?) – a tree. "Well?"

"Grab a box." Cas laughed, hefting one off the top of the pile.

"What are we doing with all my old crap?" Dean asked, still confused.

"You'll see!"

Dean shrugged and followed Cas back into the house with a cardboard box under each arm.

It didn't take long for them to transpose the contents of the car into the living room. Dean stood waist deep in his old life, watching Cas slice open one of the boxes with his pocket knife and begin unpacking.

"Last chance to explain yourself before we take a drive to the looney bin."

"We're making a tree, Dean." Cas replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've said, but why exactly does that mean molesting my VHSs?"

"Watch and learn." Cas winked, and cleared their half-empty bottles and uneaten meal off of the round coffee table. He delved into the box that held all of Dean's old vinyl records. He began laying them out in a circle as big as the table would allow. He spiraled up, stacking three layers before running out and opening another box, this one full of books. He placed these on top, fanning them out in a slightly smaller circle. He read the title on each spine before adding it to the growing tower. "Slaughterhouse Five, Breakfast of Champions, Cat's Cradle…" Cas read out loud. "Vonnegut fan?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I sort of like the weirdness of him, you know? Makes real life seem more understandable."

Cas made an approving face and continued unloading the boxes. "Science fiction… so much science fiction." He mumbled, holding up an entire collection of Douglas Adams. "You are such a dork." Dean made a face in return. "I honestly did not expect that from you!"

Dean understood Cas' pattern and he dropped to his knees to help stack his belongings into a makeshift tree. By the time his videos, CDs, cassette tapes-_Really Dean, cassette tapes?_ - and books were towered up, a cone nearly the height of Cas stood proudly on the table in the centre of the room.

"We need something for the top… and lights…" Cas delved into another box. Dean tensed when he noticed the label. _"Family stuff" _it read in scratchy black marker. Cas paused with his hand on a faded photo in a broken frame. "Are these…"

Dean took the frame gently. "Um, yeah, yes they are." He said dryly. "That's mom, she died when I was a kid. I don't remember much about her, but dad always said she sang like an angel" He pointed with his pinkie. "That's dad, he's gone too, I told you about him. He was best the best damn guitar player I've ever met. He taught me everything. That's his. "Dean gestured with his chin to the jet black electric Gibson that hung on the wall. Cas stayed silent, but his eyes were wide as they pored over the photo. "That's me." Dean chuckled at the unfortunate mop of hair on his head. "And that's my kid brother, Sam. He was just a baby here obviously; I think I've got some newer ones on the box."

"Sam Winchester. I've heard of him."

"I'm not surprised, there's not many folks in the business who haven't"

Cas slipped the picture out of Dean's hand and propped the frame up against Dirty Harry on their tree. When Dean didn't protest, he continued to unpack the box. Soon, the tree held a handful of small mementos; a strange charm on a broken cord that Sam had given him for Christmas when they were kids, a few toy army men, an Anakin Skywalker action figure (_It's a doll, Dean, I don't care what you say_) and a few scattered poker chips. Dean had quietly told Cas the story behind each item when he held them up with a questioning gaze.

"I think this would work for the top, yeah?" Cas pulled one final object from the box, Dean looked up to see what he held in his hand- a small white porcelain chubby baby angel. The phrase "angels are watching over you," was inscribed in curly gold script near the angel's naked bottom. Dean felt the urge to laugh.

"That was something that my mom got for my nursery when I was a baby, I never managed to get rid of the thing. It's got those creepy little eyes. I don't like it."

"Tough." Cas mimicked Dean's voice gruffly and placed the statue at the top of their tree. "I like it."

Cas backed into Dean to admire their handiwork. Dean instinctively wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. Even he had to admit it did the trick- the room seemed just that much more like a home. "You're a genius, Cas." He whispered into his ear.

They stood like this for several long minutes, Cas' eyes closed as he relaxed into Dean's strong chest, Dean's nose buried in Castiel's soft dark hair. Dean spent most of the time trying to put his finger on what exactly it smelled like_. Vanilla? Citrus? No, Cinnamon… ish. Maybe._ Whatever it was, Dean figured that if he could bottle it and sell it, he'd be a millionaire. Dean's stomach had some more urgent short-term plans, and when it loudly interrupted Dean felt Cas' short laugh shake through his whole body.

"The pizza's probably cold by now." Cas said as he wriggled free from Dean's arms.

"Ugh, yeah probably. Whatever." Dean bent over to retrieve the pizza box from its place of abandonment on the floor. "What movies did you bring?" Cas rifled through his bag and produced a fistful of DVDs.

"Across the Universe, Princess Bride, Rebel Without a Cause, Home Alone, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation…" He tossed the cases to Dean one at a time.

"What are we, sentimental college freshmen?" Dean chuckled.

"I just picked out titles I thought we'd both enjoy." Cas almost looked hurt and Dean scrambled to fix that.

"Easy Cas, those are some of my favorites, I'm just kidding." Dean rushed. He meant it too; it seemed Cas really could read people. "Which one do you want to watch?"

"I honestly don't care, Dean, I'll enjoy whichever one we watch."

"Dammit Cas." Dean grumbled, he hated making choices, even tiny ones like this. He placed them all in a row on the floor. "Close your eyes." He demanded.

"Dean, this is incredibly childish."

"Yeah, whatever, just close your eyes and point." He shuffled them into a different order once Cas finally resigned, not without rolling his eyes of course.

"There." Cas' hand landed with a _smack_ on the one at the end. He cracked one eye open hesitantly.

"Princess Bride it is." Dean laughed, "Man, it's been ages. You know, I always had this thing for Buttercup…" He closed his mouth quickly when Cas narrowed his eyes at him, and slid the disk into the player.

Cas had already made himself at home on the couch by the time Dean crossed the small room to join him. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on them, big blue eyes watching as the screen flickered to life. Dean sat on the armrest for a moment before letting himself fall backwards onto the seat. He sprawled his legs comfortably over the end of the couch and propped his head and neck against Cas' shoulders. Dean finally took an enormous bite out of his pizza and waved another slice in front of Cas until he took it from him.

"It's a little cold, not bad. Sorry I couldn't make anything more elaborate; ingredients are a bit sparse around here."

"I actually prefer pizza cold." Cas said through a mouthful, "And don't apologize, I didn't expect a special meal."

They ate in silence when the movie began, enjoying each other's warmth and company. Dean shivered when Cas' cold hand ran up along the back of his neck and into his hair, where it twisted and massaged absently until Dean relaxed and rested his head down on Cas' lap, closing his eyes as the slender fingers brushed the hair from his forehead and stroked the hard lines from his brow. He hadn't allowed himself this kind of comfortable intimacy in, well, forever. By the time Westley was tying a vine around his waist to dive into the pit of quicksand, Dean's lashes had fluttered down over his eyes as he completely succumbed to Cas' soothing touch.


	7. Chapter 7: Green Light, Go

Cas didn't let himself move, even when his right leg was completely numb. He figured Dean didn't get a whole lot of sleep, so he didn't dare wake him. Dean's rough and defensive exterior had completely melted away as he drifted off quietly; the deep lines between his eyebrows, the way he set his mouth and jaw, his squared shoulders… Cas was left looking down at a purer version of the man he met in the bar; tiny breaths escaped his lips, which looked softer and fuller than ever. Cas continued to brush his fingers gently over Dean's beautiful face, running his thumb along the curve under his lip, tracing his thick eyebrows, counting the freckles on his nose. They were faint now, but Cas bet that the hot Nebraska summer sun would bring them out in full force.

When the credits began to roll, Cas felt Dean stir. He didn't realize that he still held his face cradled in his hands until Dean shifted around, turning his face upwards.

"I didn't realize there was a facial in the deal," Dean mumbled sleepily, "I hope you're not gonna charge me extra."

"Good sleep?"

"Ugh, yes. How long was I out?" He swiped a hand over his face and caught sight of the glowing television screen. "That long huh?" With a hand over the back of the couch, he hauled himself up so he was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck out wildly around his face, still twisted into little spires in some places where Cas' fingers wound themselves in. This was a sight Cas wouldn't mind seeing every day for the rest of his life. He thought back to what Jo had told him that night- He was a troublemaker, womanizer, dangerous even. She hadn't seen the Dean that he had. Maybe nobody ever had. Cas saw a lonely boy who had found ways to cope, to defend himself- he was like an animal pushed into a corner. He saw a man who desired comfort and contact, who longed for touch and intimacy in place of someone who actually cared for and loved him.

Dean reached forward and hooked his fingers around another beer, twisting it open and pulling it towards his lips. He took a long pull, tipping his head back so it poured down easier. Cas couldn't pull his eyes off of his Adam's apple as it rolled smoothly under his skin- when the mouth of the bottle left his lips, and Dean's tongue dashed out to clear away the remaining drops of moisture from them, Cas couldn't hold himself back.

He pulled his knees up onto the seat beneath him and leaned forward, missing the heat that was absent from his lap. He closed the distance between them, throwing one leg over Dean to straddle his hips. He caught Dean's jaw between his hands and pulled his face roughly up to meet his. The alcohol still clung to his lips when Cas swept his tongue over them- he'd never much cared for the taste of beer, but Dean's dirty lips made anything sweet. Icy hands skirted under his wrinkled sweatshirt and slid up his back, lightly skimming his spine and caressing his waist before pressing his fingers more firmly into Cas' hips, pulling them into a steady rocking motion against his own. Taking advantage of the way Dean's head was tilted back, exposing his throat, Cas dropped his own mouth under his jaw, gently nipping and sucking, taking in air though breathing was the last thing on his mind.

_"Touch me, Dean." _ He whispered breathlessly against the hollow at the base of his neck.

"As you wish." Came the hoarse response. Cas jerked his face back up to Dean's, rising up on his knees so he was looking down at him.

"You…are… such… a…dork..!" Cas grinned through the kisses that he used to punctuate each word.

"Don't pretend you don't like it." Dean muttered against the corner of Cas' mouth. Cas responded by sliding his tongue against Dean's vigorously, regaining their previous intensity. Dean kept his vow and worked at Cas' back with his calloused fingers, digging them into the soft skin between his shoulder blades. They gracefully dove down his spine, digging under the waistband of his shorts. They worked tight circles up and down, catching his hips and grinding them down to meet his. There was nothing cold about them now, the pumping blood and friction had taken care of that, and Cas' sweater was suddenly incredibly constricting.

When they finally broke apart, Cas collapsed beside Dean, both gasping for air. Cas felt the world spinning around them, as if they had somehow literally become the centre of the universe. He slid his sweater over his head and discarded it onto the rug, desperately needing to cool down.

"Jesus, what's with us and couches?" Dean joked, his arm hung loosely around Cas' shoulder.

"Erm, they're convenient I guess?" Cas looked up at him, suddenly captivated by the length of his dark lashes.

"I suppose." Dean nonchalantly, "But I see your couch, and raise you-" A devious look crept across his face as his thumb jabbed over his shoulder. Cas followed it with his eyes, noticing the door open just a crack, revealing a comfortable-sized bed. His eyes snapped back to Dean, whose thumb continued to waggle questioningly, lips parted with his tongue poised just on the inside of his bottom lip.

"You're sure?" Cas remembered his hesitance on that first night, and he was willing to wait as long as he needed for Dean to be comfortable, but it seemed that Dean knew what he wanted.

"Oh fuck yes, Cas." He breathed and, relieved, Cas pulled him off the couch and back into his arms.

They never once broke apart on their way to the bedroom, their touch only interrupted when the mattress collided with the backs of Cas' knees. His back hit the covers, and his gasp caught in his throat when he saw Dean's fingers catch the hem at the back of his black shirt, yanking it over his neck and onto the floor in one fluid motion.

Cas' fingertips had felt nearly every inch of the other man's body, but had never seen it fully revealed. Lean muscles were tensed and ready for action; tight cords ran up his forearms and shoulders, like a tiger preparing to spring. His skin was smooth, with the ghost of a tan lingering on his biceps. The reddish freckles continued from his cheeks to his shoulders, splashing down over the rounded muscles. A few tattoos decorated the bare skin. A few bars of musical notes followed the curve over his left hip, enveloped in a rushing, swirling waterfall. Cas' mind was reeling too fast for him to pause to work out what song it represented. The blazing red wing of a phoenix crept over the opposite shoulder, the sparks mingling with the surrounding freckles. There were a few tribal-looking symbols that Cas couldn't get a good look at because suddenly Dean was prowling towards Cas from the foot of the bed, lip caught in his teeth, eyes pinning Cas down like a pair of jade daggers as he inched his way painfully slowly across the bed.

By the time their skin met again, Cas' breath was coming in ragged pants, unable to verbalize any of the sinful thoughts that crowded the forefront of his mind. Eyes never leaving Cas, Dean pounced forwards, pausing when he was level with Cas' hips. Lowering himself down oh-so-gently, he trapped the hem of his shirt in his feral teeth, tugging the material upwards, his hands sliding up the recently bared skin. When their chests were even, Dean surged forwards, lips meeting Cas' with the force of a freight train. While their lips remained locked as long as possible, his hand continued working Cas' shirt over his head. When it lay in a pile with his own at the foot of the bed, he made his way down to finish the job. With his knees on either side of him, Dean slid back down Cas' body, running his tongue and leaving a cold slick streak down his chest. His hands flew to unbutton his jeans, and he pushed them down Cas' thighs with little difficulty. With one kick, Cas' had them off entirely, and he lay bared completely to Dean for the first time.

"Shit Cas, you're beautiful." Dean breathed, his eyes softening as they explored Castiel's naked body.

"Nice to know, but could you _please get on with it._" He groaned, itching for the clash of skin and teeth that had played over and over in his mind all week.

"Mmm, don't be hasty Cas," Dean drawled, rocking back onto his knees to slide his own pants down his thighs, past his knees, calves, ankles, until he was looking down at Castiel, just as exposed as he was. He gently rubbed circles up Cas' thighs, stroking closer and closer to Cas' already rock-hard erection. Cas could tell by the cocky grin on his face that he was enjoying the torment he was putting him through. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, Cas felt Dean's weight shift as he lowered himself onto his elbows, their bodies two parallel lines. Cas could almost feel the electric current transferring between them, though their skin didn't touch. Absolutely done with the burning suspense, Cas surged his hips upwards, colliding with Dean's. In the next instant, he locked his ankles around Dean' hips, hands seizing his sandy hair, forcing their bodies together. With a twist, Dean's head hit the pillow and Cas held the power position above him, knees clamped around his sides.

Cas took pleasure in the way Dean's smile froze momentarily, he hadn't anticipated that! "Not a fucking chance." He growled, and attacked Dean's scorching lips at an erratic pace, devouring, crushing. He rolled his hips feverishly, drawing a whole new stream of profanities from Dean, never making it past Cas' urgent tongue.

Dean gently stilled their indecent pace, struggling out from under Cas to reach his bedside table. Halfway through pulling the top drawer open, he dropped his hand and swore. "Shit! Shit shit shit."

"What's the problem Dean?"

"I got nothin'" he muttered, "I meant to hit the drug store today but between everything else it just slipped my mind. _Fuck._" He added for good measure.

"No worries, I've got everything in my bag, I made a pit stop on the way here." Cas assured him. The look of relief in Dean's eyes pretty much made Cas' day. "God dammit, it's all the way by the door though." It was _cold _in the rest of the apartment, and the door seemed twice as far as it had before.

"Well, have fun, Forrest." Dean jested, playfully shoving Cas off the bed.

Cas shot him a devilish glare and nabbed a fleece blanket from the end of the bed to wrap around himself for his mad dash. He started for the door, bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood.

"My, how the tables have turned!" Dean sang out from behind the door.

"Dean Winchester, I will friggin' throttle you for this." Cas retorted, shuffling through the pockets in his black canvas bag until he found what he was looking for.

"Can't say I don't like the sound of that!"

"Yeah, you just stay there in your warm bed, your little illusion of safety. I'm coming for you." He growled. Dean's muffled laughter filled the house.

Cas hitched the blanket back around his hips and darted back to the bedroom, slamming the door and diving back into Dean's warm embrace.

"At least it was for a good cause." Dean teased into Cas' chest as they molded themselves back together.

"The best." Cas agreed, as he placed him palms flat on Dean's chest, raising himself to a seated position over him. He rolled the bottle of lubricant between his hands, warming it as much as possible, watching a host of emotions play themselves out in Dean's eyes.

"Here, do this for me." He commanded, handing the bottle to Dean to continue rolling while he tore the metallic packaging on the condom open with his teeth.

He could feel Dean's eyes taking him apart piece-by-piece while he unrolled the latex and slipped it on with shaking hands. It wasn't his first time, but he wasn't particularly practiced with the actions either.

Dean placed the bottle in Cas' outstretch hand and propped himself up on his elbows while Cas squirted the gel onto his fingers. Cas was hesitant for a moment, but a quick glance at Dean's patient face sealed the deal. _This is happening._

"Ready?" He directed the question at the stunning man before him, but it was partially for himself.

"Damn it, Cas, let's go." He choked, just as impatient as Cas had been a moment ago.

Their lips met tenderly, Cas bending down to taste Dean's sweet mouth while he shifted to one side. He delicately urged Dean's legs apart, copying his circular pattern, easing closer to his entrance. When his first finger entered, Dean's mouth stuttered against his. When the second one joined it, his lips left entirely, rising up to Cas' hair to moan soundless proclamations into the chilled air.

Cas worked his fingers, scissoring, twisting, stretching, pulling away from Dean's pleading mouth to push further and further. When the pleas found words, Cas knew they were ready.

"Fuck, Cas, give it to me" He begged. Cas removed his fingers slowly, swiping the bottle again from its place on the nightstand. He wanted to say something, something to reassure him, something sexy, but the connection between his mind and mouth was broken, he blamed it on the stunning man spread out below him.

This time he pressed a quiet kiss to Dean's glistening brow before settling between his legs. His hand met the other man's, which was clutching at the sheets already. Cas stroked it with his thumb as he made his first push, basking in the pressure and tension as Dean constricted around him.

_"Shhhh" _ He soothed. "You've got to relax."

"_Gotta relax, relax._" Dean prattled as Cas went it a little further. They took it slow, allowing Dean time to absorb Cas fully as he inched his way in.

Dean gasped as their bodies connected fully, arms interlocked, legs tangled, not a patch of skin escaping each other's searching hands.

"Move, Cas, _move._" He ordered, and Cas complied, drawing back and rocking forward into an intoxicating rhythm. He drank in Dean's moans, tasting his fragmented words and ragged breaths, catching his whimpers and locking them away in his memories- _The first time I fucked Dean into oblivion._

Dean back arched off the mattress when Cas hit his prostate, and Cas took the opportunity to envelop his body, hands raking down Dean's bulging muscles. As he increased the thrusts to a tumultuous pace, he locked his fingernails into the hollow between the ridges on either side of Dean's spine.

Cas cried out when Dead regained control of his hips, stirring them, working Cas' cock, churning and grinding until Cas couldn't hold on for a second longer. The silken touch of Dean's lips against his as he leaned up threw him over the edge. With a few short, sharp thrusts, Cas reached his apex. His sweaty hands clung to Dean's arms while he mindlessly screamed his name into his searing chest.

He pulled out and pulled off the used condom, tying it off quickly and tossing it aside, Dean was just short of writhing on the bed below. "Cas you son of a bitch." His hips bucked up towards him.

Cas dove back into action, sweeping his tongue over the head of Dean dick, the taste bursting through his mouth. Dean hands migrated from the sheets downwards, seizing fistfuls of Cas' hair when he sucked him in entirely. Cas' unsteady hands massaged into Dean's balls and he bobbed his head steadily, swirling his tongue around the shaft as he pulled up.

It wasn't long before Dean was falling to pieces too, his hips heaving upwards, spilling sticky heat down Cas' front. Cas collapsed beside him, mopping their stomachs with a balled up sheet. He dropped a light kiss to both of Dean's closed eyelids before kissing his lips, swallowing all the words that went unspoken.

It took awhile, but eventually the heat that they had built up dissipated, leaving their skin tingling with every draft that crept under the door. To Cas' relief, Dean reached down to the floor and pulled up the red duvet that had slid off the bed during their intimacy and covered them both. Their body heat quickly filled the enclosed space, enveloping them both in its comforting warmth. With a contented sigh, Cas rested his ear over Dean's heart, listening to the beat that pounded softly like distant drums.

"Thank you." Cas exhaled, for lack of better words. Dean's arms tightened around his shoulders and he dropped a kiss to his wild hair.

"No, thank you, Gorgeous." Were the last words Cas heard before he drifted off, cradled snugly against Dean's body, sated and blissful.


	8. Chapter 8: So Different Now

Morning came after a night that felt both eternal and fleeting. Cas awoke when the first few tendrils of clear light peeked through the thin curtains, illuminating the still sleeping face beside him. Carefully-so as not to disturb Dean's comatose form- he untangled his limbs and slipped out of the bed.

He winced when his warm feet hit the cold floor, a jolt that brought him back to reality. He found his discarded clothes halfway under the bed and pulled them on with a bit of difficulty, his muscles stiff and taut. With a backwards glance, he slipped out the door, closing it silently behind him.

The rest of the apartment was even colder than the bedroom, so Cas first made his rounds adjusting the thermostats, silently celebrating when the heaters came on with a rattle and buzz. He stretched out his aching muscles while he collected the empty beer bottles and pizza box from the living room floor underneath their homemade tree. Even though Dean probably didn't expect him to help tidy, it felt like a nice gesture.

He shuffled around the cramped kitchen to find the garbage bin, having to open two cupboards to locate it. Why Dean couldn't have his garbage underneath the sink like a normal person escaped him. Before stuffing the remains of their meal into the can, Cas forlornly noticed the unprecedented collection of empty bottles that already littered the space- not just the rich brown glass of beer bottles either- it seemed that anything amber-colored with an alcohol content over 40% was eligible for Dean's consumption. Cas sighed and let the door swing shut, blocking the evidence from sight.

Cas perused the fridge for something that was passable as breakfast food. No eggs, no fruit… The cupboards didn't hold anything promising either. After pushing past the spirits that had yet to be drunk, he found that they were devoid of anything in the cereal department. Finally, after checking the fridge one more time, he found an unopened packet of bacon that still smelled decent. He threw a few pieces into a pan and continued searching until he found a not-quite-stale loaf of bread, which he toasted in the oven due to Dean's lack of an actual toaster. _He wasn't kidding when he said his kitchen was useless,_ Cas thought while he lamented the lack of anything more refined to put on a plate

The bacon was spitting on the stove and the coffee maker was bubbling happily and Cas was merrily buttering toast when Dean stumbled in, massaging his neck. He wore a massive grey shirt with some mystery stain down the front and ancient flannel pajama bottoms. He looked like shit- gorgeous, blissful, radiant shit, but shit nonetheless, and Cas told him so with a smirk.

"Well, nobody's perfect, Cas." Dean threw back, "Except for you apparently, are you making _bacon? _Dammit, where have you been all my life?" Cas prodded him playfully with the handle of the spatula.

"Surprisingly, not all that far." He said cheerily, giggling when Dean's arms caught him around the waist, trapping him against his chest.

"Merry Christmas, Cas." He breathed against Cas' cheek, tickling him with his stubble. He popped an innocent kiss on Cas' cheek and released him to pour a cup of coffee.

They didn't dare venture out into the wintry air; they didn't have anywhere they'd rather be either. In the early afternoon Dean complained about their lack of cookies and chocolate, but they still didn't leave the couch, everything would be closed today anyway. Cas reprimanded him on his complete inability to plan ahead, to which Dean responded with indignant grumbling.

They finished the movies Cas brought, in varying states of consciousness and undress, and moved on to a few from Dean's collection, having to extract them from various levels of their tree. The two of them continued this way for hours, the snow softly falling past the window, isolating them completely from the world- well, almost completely. Dean was returning to the bedroom to grab a few more blankets while Cas shuffled through Dean's music collection when Cas' phone jangled. With a groan he stretched across the floor to reach his bag and pull out the phone.

"Hello?" He asked hesitantly, he hadn't been expecting any Christmas calls, he never got any.

"Hey there Castiel." A woman's slow, syrupy voice poured from the speaker.

"Meg?" He was more than a little relieved that it was only his friend and recording partner, rather than someone from his family trying to drag him home kicking and screaming.

"Of course it's Meg, who else would call you? On Christmas at that."

"Good point," Now he was curious. They were close, but not _that_ close. "What's up?"

"Well I could tell you about the pimple on my forehead, or the fact that my favorite show's on hiatus or that my cat just shit on the floor, but you don't want to hear about that. I called because- drum roll please," Cas heard a fluttering on the end of the line, apparently she doing her own sound effects. "You've got a record deal."

Cas froze, his eyes fixed on the wall. "What?" Dean walked into the room laden with blankets; he looked at Cas questioningly as he dropped them ungraciously on the couch.

"You heard me. You know how we've been mailing your last CD out basically all over the continental U.S?" Her talking had sped up from her usual slow drone to an almost excited, almost normal tempo.

"Spent basically my whole last paycheck on postage, yeah."

"Well I popped into the studio late last night to check on some equipment and there was a reply in the mail!"

Cas' breathing was alternating between coming too fast and not coming at all. "Stop holding out on me and tell me everything, Meg!"

"I don't know Cas, I can draw this out as much as I want." She teased.

"Meghan, I swear to God."

"Cool your jets, big boy, I'm not that cruel." She paused. "Okay fine, it's this label in get this… New York."

"As in New York City, or the state, because if all this hype is over a place in like, Chesterfield-"

"As in the Big Apple, not even kidding. It's a smallish company, but it's a hell of a start. You know what they say, if your cute butt can make it there, you can make it anywhere."

Cas was stunned into silence, and Meg patiently listened to his breathing, knowing he wouldn't say much until he got his head wrapped around the news. "So… what's the next step?" He almost whispered.

"We head on over to the crapper that never sleeps and we get our asses a couple of albums, a real manager and a three day gig at the Garden, that's what we do next. Sky's the limit, Cas. First things first, you've gotta give the guy a call, set up a meeting and get this show on the road, I'll text the number over to 'ya in a minute. Now pardon me, I've got some peplum tops and leather jackets to pack, keep in touch!" The line went dead with a click, and Cas slowly turned towards Dean.

"What was all that about? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Dean looked at him with concern. "Cas?"

"I… Um… A guy… A guy just offered me a record deal." Cas stuttered …"In New York."

Dean felt his heart drop down through his stomach. _New York, is Cas leaving?_ "What are you going to do, Cas?"

"I don't know, Dean, I mean this the break I've been waiting for, but I sort of feel like this is home now. I think I need to check it out though, I mean it would be stupid to throw away a chance like this, yeah?" Cas looked up at Dean from the floor, his big blue eyes wide in indecision.

"Who is it? What's the label?" Dean settled down onto the floor beside him and held his gaze.

"I don't even know yet, Meg said she'd forward me the details."

"Meg?"

"Masters. She owns the little recording studio downtown." Cas explained. "She sometimes sings and plays the cello on some of my tracks, we've known each other since high school, she and Gabe were together when they moved to town. That didn't exactly pan out."

Dean nodded, he'd met her a time or two at parties- a dark-haired, petite little firework who had a sense of humor that made you want to dunk your head in a vat of cheese fondue. In a good way.

"Anyway, she's been helping me get my sample CDs out there, we've sent them to pretty much every producer in the country, haven't heard anything back from any of them-until now at least." Cas was still tense as a statue beside him, so he gently wrapped an arm around his narrow shoulders and Cas shuffled closer, resting his head lightly on Dean's broad ones.

"Easy Cas, this is a good thing that's happening. It's what you've been waiting for, yeah?" Dean was glad Cas couldn't see his face, he was sure that he was failing completely at hiding his emotions. Cas definitely wouldn't be reassured if he could see the pained smile plastered across his features. _I can't lose anybody else. They always leave. _

"Dean, I need to go meet the guy at least, right?" Dean could see a similar expression on Cas' broad face.

"Of course you do, Cas. You go make me proud alright?" He nestled his lips into Cas' dark chocolate hair and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could block out the thoughts that were crowding to the forefront of his mind. _Not now, not Cas. _

As if he could sense Dean's tension, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and pulled him down onto the pile of blankets that had slipped onto the floor. He rested his head against Dean's chest. "Dean, I'm only going for a week or so, I'm not leaving."

Cas' light head felt like the weight of the entire world upon his chest as he struggled for air. "If you make this deal, Cas, you're not going to want to stick around here. The world is your oyster or whatever it is they say. You're incredible, and the world doesn't like to waste incredible people like you on people like me in places like this. Just don't forget me, Cas. Do me that one favor. Because I'm sure as hell not forgetting you."

"Dean, shut up before I make you." Cas' voice was more of a rumble through Dean's bones that something actually audible. "Nobody's going anywhere or forgetting anybody. You're my own personal James Dean, and no less incredible than the stars. I'd rather spend my life playing the Roadhouse with you than accept a Grammy without you."

"_Make me proud_." Dean whispered again, and neither of them spoke again until the sun shattered through the frosty masterpieces on the windowpanes, neither of them wanting to shatter the equally beautiful and delicate silence between them.


End file.
